PR 4012 
.fl4 
1893 
Copy 1 



Mffer Deafl? in Arabia 



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After Death in Arabia 

Sir EDWIN ARNOLD 



CHICAGO 

POMEROY GREEN 

323 ET,M ST. 

1893 

Copyright, 1893, by Pomeroy Green. 



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AFTER DEATH IN ARABIA 



He who died at Azan sends 
This to comfort all his friends: 

Faithful friends! It lies, I know, 
Pale and white and cold as snow; 
And ye say, ^'Abdallah's dead!" 
Weeping at the feet and head, 
I can see 3'oiir falling tears, 
I can hear your sighs and prayers; 
Yet I smile and whisper this, — 
"/am not the thing you kiss; 



Cease your tears, and let it lie; 
It was mine, it is not I." 

Sweet friends! what the women lave, 

For its last bed of the grave, 

Is a tent which I am quitting, 

Is a garment no more fitting. 

Is a cage from which, at last, 

Like a hawk my soul hath passed. 

Love the inmate, not the room, — 

The wearer, not the garb — the plume 

Of the falcon, not che bars 

Which kept him from these splendid stars. 



Loving friends! Be wise, and dry 
Straightway every weeping eye, — 
What ye lift upon the bier 
Is not worth a wistful tear. 
'Tis an empty sea-shell, — one 
Out of w^hich the pearl is gone; 
The shell is broken, it lies there; 
The pearl, the all, the soul is here. 
'Tis an earthen jar, whose lid 
Allah sealed, the while it hid 
That treasure of his treasury, 
A mind that loved him; let it lie! 
Let the shard be earth's once more, 
Since the gold shines in his store! 



Allah glorious! Allah good! 
Now thy world is understood; 
Now the long, long wonder ends! 
Yet ye weep, my erring friends, 
While the man whom you call dead, 
In unspoken bliss, instead. 
Lives and loves you; lost, 'tis true, 
By such light as shines for 3'ou; 
But in the light ye cannot see 
Of unfulfilled felicity, — 
In enlarging paradise 
Lives a life that never dies. 



Be ye certain all seems love, 
Viewed from Allah's throne above; 
Be ye stout of heart, and come 
Bravely onward to your home! 
La Allah ilia Allah! yea! 
Thou love divine! Thou love alway 



He that died at Azan gave 

This to those who made his grave. 



Farewell, friends! Yet not farewell; 

Where I am, ye, too, shall dwell. 

I am gone before your face, 

A moment's time, a little space. j 

When ye come where I have stepped, i 

Ye will wonder why ye wept; 

Ye will know, by wise love taught, ■ 

That here is all, and there is naught. j 

Weep awhile, if ye are fain, — | 

Sunshine still must follow rain; I 

Only not at death, — for death, j 

Now I know, is that first breath 

Which our souls draw when we enter 

Life, which is of all life centre. 



LIBRftRY OF CONGRESS 





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